Short
by Shiloh Moon
Summary: One day Mustang decides to unravel the mystery surrounding Edward's unusual temper trigger. He asks him why he explodes every time someone calls him short. One-shot.


Short

 **Disclaimer: I don't own FMA.**

 **Greetings, humans! This is my first one-shot, so yay for me! And since it's only a one-shot I don't need to bother you with a gigantic briefing like I typically do with my multi-chapter stories. No warnings besides (obviously) Ed's foul language. No pairings, no drama, no nothin' but pure white hot anger!**

 ***Ahem* Without further ado, please enjoy the result of me procrastinating!**

o.O.0.O.o

"Hello, Fullmetal." the smirking man greeted behind his large stack of unfinished paperwork.

The irritated blond stomped inside the office and slammed the door shut behind him. "What? No insult today?"

Immediately the other occupants of the room stiffened, waiting for the inevitable exchange of raging insults. By now everyone was used to the door being slammed open on a daily bases, but the shouting matches would still ring in their ears a few minutes after.

"Oh yeah!" Roy agreed, grinning. "I almost forgot. Someone from a traveling circus called. They said they wanted their midget back."

Jean couldn't help it. He snorted at hearing that one.

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SMALL A DWARVE COULD USE HIM AS A TOOTHPICK?!"

 _He just called himself short_ and _skinny._ Roy noted.

The black eyed man sighed and laced his fingers together atop his desk, which was dented and scratched from a certain steel fist slamming into it. Time seemed to slow down as Mustang noticed the question that he had been harboring at the back of his mind since the day he met the kid: why did his height bother him so much?

It was normal for people to become a bit off-put when their short stature was mentioned. It was just one of those unfavorable traits that some people were cursed with. Eventually they'd learn to deal with it and get on with their lives. But not Ed. This stubborn teenager jumped on every opportunity to blow up about it. Was he doing it to release stress? Was he just putting on a show to get attention? Or was he genuinely offended when someone called him small, simply because it made him sound weak?

The kid wasn't exactly hard to figure out. He was, knowingly or not, an open book. Every emotion was clearly displayed in that fiery gaze of his, which made it immensely easier to tell what he was thinking at any given moment. And when he launched into one of his short rants Mustang could always detect a glimmer of uncertainty and melancholy before his eyes were consumed in rage. It was, to say the least, unsettling. And Roy wanted to know why.

"… Colonel? You there? Hell _oooo_ …"

Hearing the sudden voice, Roy snapped out of his trance and glanced up to find a white-gloved hand waving a few inches in front of his face. Grumbling, he pushed the hand away and glared at its owner.

"What, Fullmetal?" Mustang growled.

The blond blinked. Then he scowled. "You have my report, can I go now?"

Roy glanced around the room, surveying its occupants. "Actually, I'd like to speak with you in private for a moment. Would you guys mind stepping outside?"

Edward gave him a confused sideways glance as the room was filled with sounds of scuffing chairs and pens being dropped. As soon as the others had left, the teen turned to his commanding officer.

"Great," the irritated blond plopped carelessly onto the couch. "What did I do now? You going to yell at me for 'public property damage' again?" He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Mustang, daring him to confirm his theories.

"No, Fullmetal, I only wanted to ask you something."

The teen arched an eyebrow. "Ask me what?"

The man sighed again and forged ahead with his question. "Why is it that you get _so angry_ when someone calls you 'short'?"

Red enveloped Edward's face and he opened his mouth to start his rant, but Roy cut him off.

"Exactly my point." he continued, holding his hand up in mock surrender. "Even if it's just a minor issue, it could still turn into a problem later on. I tolerate you because I'm the one who suggested you come here in the first place. The Fuhrer liked your spunk and fighting spirit during your State Alchemist Exam, but the leader of the country won't take kindly to being screamed at by some snot-nosed brat with an explosive temper."

Edward's gloved hands curled into tight fists, shaking with anger. "That's none of your damn business. And I know to keep my 'explosive temper' in check when it counts, _Bastard_. Can I leave _now_?"

"No. I want you to answer the question."

"I just said it's not any of your—"

"Dammit, Edward! Would you just do what you're told for _once_ in your life?" Roy shouted.

The kid's eyes widened, stunned, as he heard his first name. He kept fighting, though. "Why? Why do you want to know so badly?"

"Because I want to know if our daily banter is _hurting_ you or not! I see that look in your eye every day, every time. I can't keep insulting you like this if it's wounding more than just your pride."

Edward froze in shock. Roy lowered his gaze and took a deep breath, eventually closing his eyes and continuing. "Despite what you may think, I actually do care about these things. I am both concerned and curious, so just answer the question. And if it really does bother you that much I'll stop the insults."

Silence.

When Roy looked up he saw that the kid's shoulders had lost their tension. Fullmetal was staring blankly at the floor, as if he'd zoned out just like Roy had a few minutes ago. The man was about to say something but just then Edward spoke, his voice almost inaudible from across the room.

"I don't know."

Roy blinked, not sure he heard that right. "What?"

"I don't know," Edward repeated, a little louder than before. "I always thought it was because Winry used to pick on me for it. But now… I guess it just turned into a habit. I don't know why I get so angry over it. I just do. I never questioned it."

The blond teen looked up and met Mustang's gaze. "Whatever it is, it's not hurting me. Sure, I get pissed, but I'm over it quickly enough. It doesn't haunt me in my sleep or anything. But that doesn't mean I want you to keep insulting me! Mentally scarring or no, I still don't like it!" He crossed his arms again with a "hmph" of finality.

The Colonel chuckled at hearing that. "Alright, I'll ease up a _little_ bit then. But only if _you_ ease up with calling me 'useless'. Deal?"

After a moment of hesitation the kid cracked a small smile and said, "Deal, Colonel _Bastard_."

Mustang outright laughed, amused at the kid's creative loophole. He dismissed him and his team poured back into the room after the blond exited with a little more spring in his step. The tiny smile on Hawkeye's lips told him they heard pretty much everything through the door. Her falcon-feather colored eyes said, _That was really nice of you._

And then she clicked the safety off and pointed the mussel of her gun at the wall behind him threateningly.

 _Now get back to work._ Her eyes seemed to say.

Taking the 'subtle' hint, he picked his pen back up and resumed his daily torture.

o.O.0.O.o

On his way to the train station, Edward took a shortcut through a rather cheery neighborhood. The houses were all near-identical two stories with reasonably sized lawns. Each lawn was neatly mowed with flowering trees sprouting here and there. Kids played together in the front yards. One group of toddlers was engaged in a make-up game where they avoid being sprayed by the sprinklers. Another group of older kids was throwing around a Frisbee, a couple of dogs leaping to catch it.

Edward's heart ached whenever he took this route. Properly proportioned to fit the rural and open spaces of Risembool, this was how their childhood should've been spent. He and Al should've been outside drawing meaningless doodles on the side of the house with chalk. They should've been playing tag with Winry and Den, wrestling and roughhousing. Their mother and father should've been there to call the boys in when dinner was ready, and tucked them in when it was time to go to bed.

That's how it should've gone. But instead their father left them, their mother died, and they weren't doodling with chalk on the side of the house. Instead, they were drawing on the basement floor, delicately tracing an important and intricate circle that was destined to fail. They'd spent their childhood dodging Teacher's knives and chasing rabbits for survival instead of playing tag with Winry and her dog.

Not that any of that mattered. That was done and in the past. There was nothing Edward could do to change it.

The blond let his mind float back to his chat with the Colonel earlier. It was funny, really. What he said in that office was fairly true. He really _didn't_ know why he got so hot tempered about his height. That should've been something he grew out of ages ago, but it stuck with him. He knew that he wouldn't be short forever. He knew that in reality he wasn't the tallest fifteen-year-old out there, and he fully acknowledged that fact despite what everyone thought.

Suddenly he felt a tug on the bottom of his long brown coat, effectively pulling him out of his musings. He stopped and glanced down to see big, brown puppy dog eyes looking up at him.

"Hey mister!" the little girl said. "You're pretty tall! Can you get our ball for us? It went _waaaay_ up in a tree and we can't reach it!"

The rest of the kids trotted up to them and backed up her statement. A red-haired boy pointed up to the tree and, indeed, a beach ball was lodged between two of its branches. The limbs weren't very high, but they weren't low enough for any of these kids to reach them.

Unbeknownst to the blond teenager, a part of him had let go of that odd rage he got whenever someone mentioned his height. In that moment, something at the back of Edward's mind clicked as he realized that he had no reason to be angry about it anymore. He wasn't that short anymore, even if he _was_ below average height for his age, and he would only continue to get taller until he was an adult.

Edward smiled softly and responded, "Sure thing, kiddos."

It felt good to call someone that for a change. He was so used to being called a kid when he was at the office, surrounded by adults. Out here with these short little toddlers he was the one they had to look _up_ to see. And now he could call these other people kids— because that's what they were. They were just kids, and he was the adult here.

Edward stepped off the sidewalk and headed for the tree. He didn't even have to go on his tip-toes to grasp the ball, he just reached up about half the distance his arm could extend and gently yanked the inflated plastic from the branches' clutches. The blond handed it back to the little girl and she beamed at him.

"Thanks, mister!" she said breathlessly.

Being the cool badass teenager that he was, he shoved his hands in his pockets and continued his way down the sidewalk without looking back. An effort to respond would've been futile, anyhow, because the toddlers had immediately continued their game as soon as the child voiced her thanks. Edward smiled, remembering that he was like that at one point in his life, too.

It had felt good to be of use specifically for his superior height, even if they were just little kids. It also felt good knowing that an understanding had been established earlier that day: an understanding between him and his commanding officer. He hadn't really taken it into consideration that Mustang was the same exact way when someone called him "useless". And despite them being different in every other aspect, maybe the man wasn't as bad as Edward had originally thought.

The Colonel was just one more person in Edward's life that actually cared about him, as odd as that sounded.

o.O.0.O.o

Winry was with Al at the train station, searching for a familiar head of gold, a flash of red, or his loud-ass voice. Anything that would indicate Edward's location. The station was swarmed with people that day. It was a particularly busy time of year, what with the holidays just around the corner, and they weren't having any luck spotting the famous alchemist.

She turned to Al. "Where _is_ he? Didn't he say that his train arrived at eleven?"

The armor scanned the crowd for his brother. "Uh-huh. I think so, anyway."

Winry frowned as she searched for any sign of red in the large mass of people. "Is he even wearing his coat? I don't see any red."

"Well, the last one he had got shredded. He might not have had time to make a new one during the trip."

Squinting, she tried to focus on hair, sharpening her eyes to see a golden braid. A few minutes later she checked the large clock in the middle of the station: 11:06 it read. Growling slightly, Winry said,

"Well, if his train isn't late then he's here somewhere."

Then she took a deep breath and placed her hands around her mouth in a make-shift megaphone, shouting at the top of her lungs over the noise of the crowd. "HEY! HAS ANYONE SEEN A GUY WITH LONG BLOND HAIR, GOLD EYES, AND WEARING BLACK? AND HE'S REALLY SHORT!"

Receiving the expected response, she heard a familiar loud-ass voice shout back, "WHO ARE YOU CALLIN' A TINY LITTLE PIPSQUEAK! I'M NOT SHORT, DAMMIT!"

o.O.0.O.o

 **Finite! I've waited so long to write that last scene. It was floating around in my head for quite some time. I'm glad I finally got that off my chest.**

 **Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading this!**

 **Fare thee well, strange people!**


End file.
